


Only a few million watching

by traumschwinge



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sports, Biathlete!Erik, Fluff, M/M, Take it as compensation for the last one, Trainer!Charles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 15:25:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1231540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traumschwinge/pseuds/traumschwinge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the day of the second last race of the year, biathlete Erik Lehnsherr stands to win more than just a World Cup race.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only a few million watching

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for my [daddy Grimmsche.](http://grimmsche.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  **Edit** : Now with a **Russian translation** [Всего лишь несколько миллионов зрителей](http://ficbook.net/readfic/1725132) by [halfdeadScorpio](http://archiveofourown.org/users/halfdeadScorpio/pseuds/halfdeadScorpio)/[Mezzo morto@kniga fanfikow](http://ficbook.net/authors/Mezzo+morto)

Erik fumbled the loops of his ski poles over his gloves. His pulse was still racing and he tried to force it down as he stepped on the mat, dropped the poles so they were between his feet and out of the way. With a few efficient, much experienced motions, he took the riffle off his back and prepared to shoot. He could still hear his blood hammering in his ears. Erik allowed himself two deep breaths, before he took his aim.

He didn't hear the shoot as much as he saw the target switch from black to white. One down, four more to go.

Another careful aim. He had to hurry but that didn't mean he could miss even one target. Another click, another target going white. Good. And he was still alone at the shooting range.

Aim, shoot, hit, target sliding shut. And another time. Erik could feel his pulse slow with every moment he was standing here. This wasn't good. He would need some for the rest of the race.

He was just aiming for the forth target, when he noticed that he wasn't alone on the range anymore. He fired and... missed. One moment of lessened concentration, and he only missed the edge of the target, not enough for it to close. He cursed, forced out a deep breath.

Focus, Lehnsherr, he told himself. This time, he aimed more carefully. Took a few seconds more time. His heart was racing again. He could make up for one round on the penalty loop. He was a fast cross country skier. But two extra rounds would be too much.

He pressed down the trigger and closed his eyes. The target was white when he opened them next. Good. Breathe, Lehnsherr, you got this. Erik bend over to pick up his poles. Back on the track, focus, through the penalty loop and then only one more lap to go.

  
  


Erik could see the goal. He couldn't feel much of his legs anymore. Nor of his arms, for that matter. He had to force himself to go on, only those few more meters. He kept his gaze locked on the twigs of pine marking the different tracks. He knew his competitors were close. Or at least he thought so. He didn't know much anymore at this point.

Almost the second he'd crossed the finish line, his legs started to refuse to work anymore. He dropped to his knees, opening the binding of his skis with shaking fingers and stepped out of them. There were people coming running towards him. There must be, there always were.

He didn't look up until he felt a hand clasping his shoulder, another one patting his back. "You did it, you did it, oh Erik," he heard his trainer, Charles cheer into his ear. It wasn't before then that he noticed how much noise there was around them. The crowd was cheering. Erik blinked at Charles.

"Did I win?" he asked.

"Did you... what? Of course you did!" Charles patted his back some more before he started pulling Erik to his feet again. "Up you go," he murmured. "There's a good lad." A little more awkward patting. Erik had never before noticed how close Charles was always standing at times like these. Why didn't he notice this before? Or was it just the shortage of oxygen in his brain that caused this hallucination. No, Charles was definitely there, now collecting Erik's skis and poles, escorting him away from the finish line.

"Charles," Erik breathed when he finally trusted his lungs and voice enough again to talk. They were standing a little way off, Erik still recovering from the 20 kilometers he'd just run and the 20--well, 19 targets he'd just shot. There would have to be an interview soon, he could already see the television crew preparing only a few meters away from them. But he had to talk to Charles first.

His hand, now steady like always when he was more than a little bit nervous, found Charles' lower arm. He would need something to hold onto if he wanted to get the next words out. "Charles, are you in love with me?"

"What?" Erik could have kicked himself for that puzzled, disbelieving look Charles shot him. So it had been the oxygen after all. Shit. "Am I in.. Do I love you? I... Geez, Erik, I ..." Charles brushed some wayward strands of hair out of his eyes. "Well, of course," he said, breathing evenly and looking everywhere but at Erik. "Of course I love you, my dear, you're my best friend. Why do you ask something like that?"

Erik shook his head. "That's not what I asked, Charles," he said as softly as he could, however frustrated he was right now.

"Can't this wait until later?" Charles shot him a single pleading look before he avoided eye contact again. "It's only another week to the World Cup finals and then we can have this talk, okay?" He patted Erik's shoulder and Erik could tell the exact moment when Charles realized what he was doing before he let his hand drop. "Can't you wait another week, Erik, please? Just this once."

It hurt Erik to see his friend, his trainer, tormented like this. He wished he could end this. He didn't want Charles to suffer from anything. And weren't they a team? They had been working together for so long now. Now that he'd made up his mind about Charles' feelings, it was in retrospect rather obvious, wasn't it. He wondered for a moment, if others had seen this before any of them had know. He wondered a little longer how long Charles had know. And, at last, he asked himself how he could have been this blind, not to see all the affection they had for each other, not to mention the huge pile of emotion pent-up below the surface.

"Charles," he tried it one more time. If only he could speak his mind for once in his lifetime.

"No, not now, okay, at least wait until tonight to fire me," Charles brushed him off. "Look, the reporter's coming over."

Erik saw the reporter, saw the camera, instinctively knew the camera would already be rolling from the way the reporter walked and checked it every other step. Erik saw them and decided to ignore them, for once. He didn't care. All he cared about what that Charles, his trainer, his best friend, **the person he was in love with** , thought he was going to fire him for being in love with him.

Erik's hand found Charles' shoulder the moment the reporter stopped in front of them and when their lips met, Erik was sure the camera was directed right at them. On the bright side, he could only make the front page once tomorrow.

  
  


"Do you have any idea how many people are watching biathlon these days?" Charles hissed. It was later that evening. They hadn't been able to get back to their hotel sooner, with both of them still work to do and meetings and check-ups to attend. But now they were alone in Charles' hotel room and apparently, that was enough for Charles to give his indignation full scope.

"A very few million?" Erik guessed. He had sat down on the edge of Charles' bed and watched his trainer pace in front of them.

"More than five million in Germany alone, all of which, by the way, had the questionable honor of watching you kiss me," Charles snapped back at him.

"Well?" Erik crossed his arms behind his head. "Didn't you like it?"

"I-what?" Charles stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face Erik.

"I asked, didn't you like the kiss?" Erik repeated, slower and more pronounced this time.

"Erik, that's not the question here," Charles sighed.

Erik extended an arm and pulled Charles towards him. With a low yelp, Charles landed on Erik's lap, with Erik's arms wrapped tightly around him and holding him in place. "I think this is the only question here," Erik murmured as he pressed more and more kisses against the back of Charles' neck, onto his jawline, this cheek, the corner of his lush red mouth.

"Erik, stop it." Charles tried to wriggle himself free but he was laughing all the same.

"Not until you admit that you're in love with me," Erik said, his voice almost a predatory low growl.

Charles somehow managed to at least turn around and face Erik again, now straddling his tights and holding onto him with one arm. Erik could get used to this. "Under one condition," Charles whispered in between kisses.

"Anything," Erik immediately answered.

"I'll tell you after you won the last race next week." Charles was smiling, something very cheeky and, dare Erik think so, achingly adorable.

"Just you wait," Erik growled,

Whatever Charles answer had been to that, it was lost between laughter and, soon, the sounds of kisses.


End file.
